Page 36 of Pucking My Grumpy Roommate
“Especially after that.” I leaned down until my lips were inches from hers. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Kate. You make me want to be less...controlled.”
“That’s probably not a good thing,” she murmured, her eyes dropping to my mouth.
“Or maybe it’s exactly what I need.”
I closed the distance between us, capturing her lips with mine. She tasted like vanilla protein shake and something uniquely Kate. Her hands immediately gripped my dress shirt, not caring that she was transferring protein sludge to the expensive fabric.
I backed her against the counter, deepening the kiss as her mouth opened beneath mine. Her soft moan shot straight to my groin, reminding me of all the sounds she’d made beneath me the night before.
“Wait,” she gasped, pulling back slightly. “We should talk about this.”
“About what?” I asked, trailing kisses down her neck.
“About...oh god, that feels good...about us. What we’re doing. What this means.”
I pulled back just enough to look at her properly. “What do you want it to mean?”
She blinked, clearly not expecting the question. “I...I don’t know. It’s all happening so fast. One minute you’re Mr. Wrong Number, the next you’re my grumpy roommate, and now we’re...”
“Fucking?” I supplied, enjoying the blush that spread across her cheeks.
“I was going to say ‘intimately involved,’ but yes, that too.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. This woman—brilliant enough to solve medical mysteries but adorably flustered by direct language—was undoing me in ways I hadn’t thought possible.
“Here’s what I know,” I said, cupping her face in my hands. “I like talking to you. I like sleeping with you. I even like finding you covered in protein shake after you’ve destroyed my laptop.”
“When you put it that way, I sound like a walking disaster,” she mumbled.
“You are,” I confirmed. “But for some reason, I’m into it.”
Her expression softened. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I kissed her again, slower this time. “So maybe we don’t need to define it right now. Maybe we just see where it goes.”
“The scientist in me hates that lack of defined parameters,” she said against my lips. “But the woman in me thinks it sounds perfect.”
I lifted her onto the counter, stepping between her legs as her arms wrapped around my neck. “I’m going to need you to take off this shirt.”
“Because it’s covered in sludge?” she asked innocently.
“Because it’s in my way,” I growled, already sliding my hands underneath to feel her warm skin.
She laughed, the sound turning into a gasp as my fingers skimmed the underside of her breasts. “Your tie is also in the way,” she pointed out, already working to loosen it.
I helped her remove it, then started on my shirt buttons while she watched with hungry eyes.
“You know,” she said conversationally, as if we weren’t about to have sex, “there’s scientific evidence suggesting that physical activity helps accelerate healing in certain injuries.”
I raised an eyebrow, shrugging off my shirt. “Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Ellis?”
“Absolutely.” She reached for the button of my dress pants. “I’d be remiss in my duties as a scientist if I didn’t recommend a thorough...physical therapy session.”
“And they say romance is dead.” I laughed, helping her pull the flour-covered shirt over her head, revealing she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath.
“Fuck,” I breathed, taking in the sight of her perched on the counter, half-naked and perfect.
“That’s the general idea,” she quipped, but her sassy comeback dissolved into a moan as I lowered my mouth to her breast.
